Targon waited and worried. Had Baranor found Boromir? Why had he run off so quickly? Should he wake Boromir and take him somewhere else? Where could he take him? This was the only place he knew that was safe; that had been safe. Tears filled his eyes. ‘I cannot abandon him, but if we are caught…’ He shuddered. Suddenly, the touch of a hand made him jump. Captain Gildor stood before him.

"Baranor sent me. He suggests we carry your rat to a safer place." In answer to the surprise on Targon's face he said, "We are loyal to Lord Denethor's son, Targon. A few of us. Come with me. You have been most brave, and more clever than any of the rest of us to have found and freed our Steward. Come," he said as he saw the hesitation in the lad's eyes, "have not you trusted Baranor these past weeks?"

"Aye. He sent you?"

"Baranar has gone to the dungeons. Once he realized whom you had under that rat's nest, he knew the others must be Amandil's prisoners. He and Captain Gorlim have gone below to free them."

"I hid a key under their tray," the lad whispered. "They may not be there."

Gildor laughed loudly. "You are a treasure, young man. Have you considered becoming an esquire?"

Now it was Targon's turn to laugh. "I love to cook," he said simply.

"Well, then, cook, let us take our chicken and hide it from the hungry Amandil."

Targon bent over and shook Boromir. Seeing the lad's eyes opening wide in fear, he said, "This is a friend, Boromir. We are taking you to a safer place. Please, be quiet."

Boromir nodded. Placing his hand on the soldier's arm, he whispered, "Faramir? Have any heard of Faramir?"

Gildor shook his head. "I am sorry; I have heard nothing."

They walked down the hall and into a stairwell. Ascending quickly, they came out onto the Seventh Level. Boromir shuddered as he saw the Citadel before him. Amandil was there, in the Citadel. He hung back; fear and suspicion fell upon him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and drew away.

"I promise you, upon the memory I hold of your father, I am a friend," Gildor said. "I will not give you over to Amandil. We are heading towards a room in the lower reaches of the Great Hall. There are others waiting for us. Someone you might know has joined our merry band."

Boromir wondered, but held his tongue. They turned left and skirted the parapet. Boromir's heart broke as he gazed upon the White Tree and the Fountain. His whole life had revolved around this Level, yet here he was, afraid of being here.

The sky was already lightening and Gildor hurried them along. They ran quietly. They reached the Great Hall and turned into a side hall. Running quickly through it, they found themselves in another stairwell. Boromir was tiring. His sides and his head ached.

At last, at the bottom, they turned into a little room. Boromir cried in delight. "Indis!"

~*~

Théoden King and his men quickly closed the door and started climbing down the stairs.

"How many levels did she say till we reach the dungeons?" Captain Hathol asked. "I have never been to the dungeons."

"It is six, Captain. And be grateful that we have so rarely used them. In olden times, they were full. Who knows, mayhap Amandil has filled them again," Captain Húrin sighed.

"Filled or no, we should find Durahil waiting for us. The map Listöwel drew is quite good. He should have no trouble finding his way, unless he is stopped," Théoden King said, quietly. "But whether he meets us or no, our first duty is to find our people and free them."

A look of pain flitted across his face. "I hope they are together. It will not be well if we must search many cells, or many levels for that matter. I wish Listöwel had been with us before we sent Durahil off. At least the rider was able to meet with him and give him the map before he entered Mundburg. Discovering that she knew a secret entrance would have been more beneficial at the beginning of our sortie!"

He shook his head in amaze. "She is as stubborn and self-sufficient as Indis. I told her to stay with the troops until I sent for her, and what does she do? She disobeys and comes by herself. By herself, mind you! I do not understand the women of Gondor. They disobey, they come where they are not wanted, they do what they think is right and good, all the while throwing tradition to the wind."

Captain Húrin spoke quietly. "They have learned through suffering, my Lord."

"Aye. I have seen it in their eyes. I see it in Morwen Steelsheen's eyes. Mayhap I should let my mother ride with an éored now and again." He pointed down a hallway that led to their left. "There is where we are to find the next set of stairs."

"Sh!" Captain Amlach whispered. "I hear something."

They drew their swords and stepped back into the stairwell they had just emerged from. A contingent of soldiers raggedly marched by. Théoden surmised they were bent on returning to their quarters for the breaking of their fast. The sun should be full in the sky by now. They were running out of time. As they turned the corner, they were met with swords to their throats.

"You are, no doubt, Théoden King," the leader of the group bowed low. "Welcome to Minas Tirith." The smile on his face left quickly. "If you would live, you best follow me."

"Baranor! Is that you, my friend?" Captain Amlach cried, hitting the man vigorously on the back. "Gorlim! About time you two decided to join the fray!"

Théoden King breathed a sigh of relief.

"It is I. If you continue to make this much noise, though, and if I rightly remember you were always prone to noisy entrances, we will surely be captured."

~*~

Grimbold walked quietly behind Siriondil. Ioreth had wrapped his head with a large white cloth that covered both his eyes. Siriondil hoped it would disguise the Rohir well enough to get them past the guards at the Seventh Level's gates.

They were stopped, but when Siriondil said he was bringing an injured soldier back to the Third Company, the guards let them pass. They crossed the Court of the Fountain and into the Great Hall. Turning left, they followed the same path that Targon and Boromir had. Entering the room, Ioreth helped Grimbold remove the cloth wrappings. When he could see again, he smiled in joy. Boromir ran to him, stopped in embarrassment, and then hugged him.

"We thought you dead, Grimbold!" Then he begged, "Have you heard aught of Faramir?"

The hope in the boy's face stole Grimbold's heart; the pain wrenched it. "Nay, Boromir. I know nothing of Faramir's whereabouts. And that is a good thing, I think. I thought you dead. Let us not think such thoughts again, what say you?"

Éomund stepped forward and hugged the man fiercely. "It is good to see you again, my friend, but you are wounded?"

"Nay. Just a scratch. The head wrap was our healer's idea. We made it past guards using it as a ruse. And you?" he noted the arm hanging at his Marshal's side, and remembered the one-armed hug.

"I fear I am in need of a healer myself." He smiled and moved towards Siriondil. "Do you think there is hope I may wield a sword again with this arm?"

Siriondil moved him towards a chair. "Sit. Let me look at it." Ioreth brought the healer's bag over. For once, she kept still, handing Siriondil instruments, salves, and cloth.

The others in the room stayed still. After a short time, Siriondil stood up. "You will have a long recovery. It should have been tended to immediately, but it will be useful again. Mayhap within the year, with rest and good care."

"Thank you, my Lord Siriondil," Indis said quietly.

The healer looked at her in surprise. "Forgive me, my Lady. I did not see you there." His eyes filled with tears. "I cannot express the pain in my heart from the news of Arciryas' death. Would that I were with him!"

At that moment, the door opened again. Swords were quickly drawn and then sheathed as Théoden King stepped into the room. His presence made the room seem small.

Théodred ran to him, crying out. "Father! Father!" Tears wet both faces as they embraced.

"Faramir?" Boromir cried, running forward. "Have you found Faramir?"

Théoden King knelt down and held the boy's face in his hands. "Aye, Boromir," he said quietly and with deep feeling, "He is well and with Listöwel. As soon as we have taken the Citadel back, she will bring him to you."

The boy collapsed against the king, deep sobs wracking his body. "Thank you," he repeated again and again.